Superheroes and Friends
by Lament
Summary: Clay shows up on Harm's doorstep. Chapter 4 is up.
1. The Visit

Title:  Superheroes and Friends

Disclaimer:  They're not mine. I'm not making any money.

Warnings: I am definitely not a Harm/Mac shipper.  I am, however, a Webbie.  Consequently, certain biases should be expected.  But this story does not revolve around a Webb/Mac romance.  Rather, this is a story about the friendship between Harm and Clay.  My apologies about the dorky title.

*****

"Look, Mom. I'll try to call more.  No, I'm not just saying that.  Bye."

Letting out a breath, I place the receiver back into the cradle.  It's been a rotten week.  First, I get into it with Mac; now, my mom is upset with me.  Granted, I haven't kept in touch with my mom lately.  But I've been busy.  

And I'm about to get busier.  I have to figure out living arrangements for Mattie and me, now that I have custody. 

That's something else my mom was ticked off about. I didn't tell her I was trying to get appointed as Mattie's guardian until a few minutes ago.  

Mac was upset about that, too.  Accused me of shutting her out of my life.

I hear a knock at my door, so I haul myself off my perfectly comfortable couch and drag myself across the room.  Exhaling, I swing open the door.

"Webb," I say to the man in the hall.  "What do you want?"

Webb doesn't say anything.  He just stands there looking dazed.  

"Hey, Webb."

He looks at me like he's just noticed I'm there.  "What?"

"What are you doing here?"  

Webb still looks out of it, so I take a step backward and open the door wider.  "You going to come in, or just stand there."

He wanders in to my apartment and stops in the middle of my living room.  "Is your kid here?" He asks.

I sigh.  "You mean Mattie?"  Mac must have told him about her.  "No, she's still at her mother's house.  We haven't figured out living arrangements."

"Do you plan to knock out another wall?"  He walks over and sits down at the table.

I lean against the door.  I'm not in the mood for Webb right now.   "Heard you had a Christmas date with Mac."  I say bitterly.

He nods.  "Yes, I did."

"Come here to gloat?"

"About what?"

"Your budding romance with Mac."

He exhales.  "Rabb—"

"Did she get you something nice for Christmas?"

He stands up abruptly, sending a chair tumbling backward.  "Rabb, I came to you because I needed someone to talk to.  I needed a friend."  He wraps his arms around himself.

I walk across the room and pick up the fallen chair.  When I glance up, I find Webb watching me.

He smoothes out the arms of his shirt, and starts to pace.  "Rabb, I waited years for you to make a move.  You never did.  So, don't make me feel like I did something wrong because I told Sarah how I feel about her."

"How you feel?"  I laugh.  "This is a game to you."

He glares at me.  "Rabb, I don't play with the emotions of the people I love."

"Oh, now we're to love."

He stops pacing. "Look, I know I needled you when we were in Paraguay.  And I'm sorry."  He crosses his arms again.  "But I'm not sorry I told Sarah how I felt.  Maybe she and I will just be close friends.  Maybe we'll be more someday.  I don't know.  But either way, that's between Sarah and me."

I stare down at the floor.  I don't know if Webb loves Mac, or if she loves him.  I'm not even sure if I'm really in love with Mac.  Maybe I just love the possibility of her.  Webb's right about one thing, though.  I had lots of time to make a move, but I never did.

I take a step toward Webb and place a hand on his shoulder. "You said you needed someone to talk to."

"Forget it." He shakes off my hand.  Webb can be melodramatic when he's upset. 

"Tell me what's wrong."

Webb narrows his eyes at me.  "I shouldn't have come here."

 "Come on.  I just had a fight with my mom.  I was in a bad mood when you got here."

Webb drops himself onto my couch. I can tell he's going to need some coaxing to talk to me, so I lower myself onto the cushion beside him.  

"You know," I say.  "You came all this way.  You might as well talk about it."

Webb pulls a book off the coffee table and starts thumbing through it.  Finally, he says, "We've known each other for nearly a decade, you know that?"  

"Yeah."

"I don't have a lot of friends."

"Look, Clay."  I place a hand on his shoulder.   This time he doesn't knock it off.  "If it had been you in Paraguay—just you—I still would have come after you."

He nods.  "I know that.  I know if I'm ever trapped in the jungle or lying bloody on a battlefield, you'll come for me."  He furrows his brow.  "But right now, I just need someone to talk to."

"Well, you got me."

He lets out a long breath and leans his head back.  "The Agency found some remains a while ago.  We tested them.  The results came back today."  He tugs at his bottom lip.  "The remains belong to my dad."

I stare at him.  That was the last thing I expected him to say.  My mind races, trying to come up with some words of…what?  Comfort? "Where did they find him?" I ask.

"Classified," he sighs.

For a minute, I think he's being flippant, but I know he's not.  "Well, what now?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Well, do you have any leads or anything?  Do you want me to help you look into it?"

He almost smiles.  "Thanks Harm.  But no.  I don't need a superhero right now."

I don't get him sometimes.  "I was just offering to help."

"I know," he says, cocking his head at me.  "And it means a lot that you would do that.  But I don't want to go off hunting for a killer.  I just want to bury my dad."

I don't know what to do, or what to say.  

Almost as if he can read my mind, Webb says, "Harm, I came to you with this because out of all the people I know, you're the one person who understands what this feels like.  And I need to talk to someone who understands."

I gaze out the window.  Webb and I don't have the most typical of friendships, and we don't always express it the way other people do, but I have absolutely no doubts that we are friends.

A few years ago, Webb faked his own death.  When the Admiral gave Mac and me the news, it hurt.  I felt an incredible sense of loss.  So, I dealt with my grief the only way I knew how.  I tried to find his killer.  

And Webb. He's done a lot for me, if I'm being honest. He spent Christmas a couple of years ago getting my brother out of a prison in Chechnya.    

But as for the touchy feely stuff.  That we're not so good at.  

Pulling Webb out a camp full of terrorists I can do. And even talking about surface-level emotions I can do.  But talking to him about private pains?  That's out of my area of expertise.  I'd rather do the superhero thing.  

I gaze at him.  But like he said…he needs a friend right now, not a superhero.

Finally, I stand up.  "Come on."

"Where are we going?"  He asks.

"Let's hit the pizza place down the street.  We can get a bite to eat and talk. You can tell me about your dad."

He cocks his head at me. "Is there going to be any tofu on this pizza?"

I grin as we walk out the door.  "I'll try to control myself, Clay."


	2. Mere Mortals

Title: Superheroes and Friends

Chapter 2

*****

Harm and I are sitting in a restaurant down the street from his home.  We came here to eat pizza and talk.  Or bond, I suppose.

Harm has strange taste in food, so we decided to compromise on the pizza.  Harm got every vegetable known to man on his half.  I got ham and pineapple on mine.

Currently, Harm is pulling chunks of tomato off the pizza and popping them into his mouth.  "So," he says casually.  "Tell me about your dad."

"What do you want to know?" I ask.  I'm not accustomed to telling people about my family.  Not many people have ever asked.

He shrugs.  "How old were you when…you know?"

"I was a sophomore in college when my father disappeared," I say.

"Were you close?"

"Yes, very close."  I take a sip of cola.  "I've never had a lot of friends, Harm, so my parents have always been important to me."

"I know you're close to your mother."

"Well, after my father died, we were all each other had left."

"Well, that's not true.  You have me.  You have Mac."

I glance up.  Harm and I settled the Sarah issue earlier this evening.  At least as much as it will ever be settled.

He leans back in the chair and stretches.  "Did your mother ever think about remarrying?"

"No, of course not," I say quickly. I've never considered the possibility of my mother marrying again.  

Harm laughs.  "Well, it does happen, you know."

"I suppose."

Taking of bite of pizza, Harm asks, "So what was he like?"

I frown.  Finally, I scoot forward in my seat.  "If you tell anyone this, I'll have a sweeper on you so fast it'll make your head spin."

"What?"

I let out a long breath.  "AJ has always reminded me of my father."  
  
"The Admiral?" Harm says incredulously.

"No, _Baby_ AJ," I say.  "Yes, the Admiral."  I stir the ice in my glass with a straw.  "Of course, my father was more cultured, and he had more hair."  I glance up at Harm and smile.  "But the Admiral shares a certain strength and forcefulness with my father.  He can handle me."

Harm grins.  "I haven't found anyone yet who can handle me."

"Well, no surprise there."

"So," Harm says.  "You got into intelligence because of your father?"

"Yes."

Harm just nods.   He joined the Navy because of his father.

Taking a sip of diet something, he says, "Did you ever want to do anything else?"

"Actually, I was planning to be a teacher."

He raises an eyebrow.  "You?  A teacher?"

I narrow my eyes at him.  "What's so strange about that?"

"I can't imagine you with a room full of kids.  You weren't very parental with Josh Pendry."

Glowering, I say, "I was planning on teaching college.  I concentrated in history at Harvard."

He nods.  "History.  I can see that."

"I also flirted briefly with archaeology."

"Really?"  He laughs derisively.  "I can't imagine you digging around in the dirt."

I glare.  This is what _usually_ happens when Harm and I get together.  I say something, and he devalues it.  Harm can be an arrogant jerk sometimes.  I don't know why I like him so damn much.  

"Rabb," I say, my voice coming across a bit more flustered than I intend.  "I've spent more time sleeping in a tent in the desert than you ever will.  I brush down my own horse.  And, incidentally, I've gone on digs."

"Come down, Clay.  I was talking."

I let out a breath. "Did you want to do anything else?"

He shakes his head.  "Nah.  All I ever wanted to do was fly."

"So law was just a back-up plan?"

"Yeah.  Turns out I'm pretty good at it."

I can't argue with him there.  He's a superb lawyer.  "Good thing AJ gave you your job back."

"Yeah," he says dramatically.  "Especially since you saw to it I lost my job at the Agency."

"Oh, for God's sake, Rabb," I snap.  "I didn't have you fired."

He looks at me intently.

I lean forward.  "The DDI had you fired.  I fought for you."  
  


"I just assumed," he says quietly.

"I'm not the Great and Powerful Oz of the CIA," I mutter.

We sit there in awkward silence for a long moment.  

Finally, I say, "Actually, I rather liked the idea of you being a part of the brotherhood."

He gazes at me with this sensitive, emotional expression on his face.  Outstanding.  Now we're going to get touchy feely. I shouldn't have said anything.  "I'm sorry we never got to work together," he says.

I shrug.  "My hand was still healing.  It's hard to keep up with a superhero when you have nerve damage."

He smiles.

"Besides," I continue, "I'm sure sooner or later you'll forget you're a mere mortal, and you'll go off on some tangent and drag me into the middle of it."

Leaning back in this seat, he grins.   "Oh, sure.  You complain now.  But you'll enjoy it."

He's right.  I probably will.


	3. Reaching Out

 Title: Superheroes and Friends

Chapter 3

*****

I hear a knock at my office door; but before I can react, it swings open.

"Webb," I say.  I've been expecting him.

He stands there frowning at me, his arms crossed.  He's dressed in casual clothes.  I suppose that means I've interrupted his day off.  

After a few moments, he tosses a file on my desk.  "Here's the file you ordered," he says.  Then he adds, "You want fries with that?"

"Funny," I say.

I thumb through the file, stopping when I hear a long-suffering sigh.  Glancing up at Webb, I say, "What?"

'Would it kill you to say thank you?"

"Thank you, Clay."

"You're welcome." He keeps staring at me.  "So, what are you working on?  Case?"

"Favor," I mumble.  

Last night, an old friend of my father's stopped by and asked me to look into the disappearance of his brother.  But I'm not going to tell Clay that.

"You know," he says.  "You don't have to have an excuse to call me."  He leans against the door frame. "It would be nice if you called me for social reasons."

I cross my arms and look up at him.  He doubts our friendship.  He always has.  Clay's mom once told me that he's always been a loner.  So, I guess he doesn't have a lot of experience having people who care about him.

"Okay," I say.  "Why don't we go fishing sometime?"  I lean back in my chair, waiting for him to argue with me.  

"Fine," he nods.  "I'll have Mother bring my gear down from the attic."

"You actually fish?" I ask incredulously.

 "Yeah, Rabb," he says irritably.  "I fish."

Over the years, pushing Clay's buttons has become a hobby of mine.  But I have to watch that I don't push too far.  For a guy some people call "the tin man," Clay's feelings get hurt pretty easily.  I've always wondered if he was bullied as a kid or something.

Still, I can't resist one more dig.  "So, do you have one of those hats with the lures hanging off of it?"

"No," he spits.  

I smile.  "So, do you know anything new about your dad?"

He lets out a breath.  "Rabb, I told you.  I just wanted to bury him."

"You don't want to know what happened to him?"  I ask.

He stares at the wall. "I gave my right to know," he says quietly.

I lean forward.  He's lying, and I know it. "Come on, Clay.  Aren't you curious?"

"Rabb," he says irritably.  "Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat'?" 

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.  "Curiosity killed the cat?"  I stand up.  "_I'd _want to know."

He glowers at me. "And let's see where your little adventures to find your father took us.  There was the time you got framed for murder.  And there were all the frequent flier miles we racked up between here and Russia."

"And there was Sergei."  I take a step forward, so I'm right in front of him.  "And we did find out what happened to my dad.  I got closure."

He exhales, his breathing a little staggered.  "Rabb, why are you doing this to me?"

"I just thought you'd want to know."

"It happened a very long time ago."

I shrug.  "Where'd they find him?"

"Classified."

"Oh, come on."  He uses that excuse to hide from everything he doesn't want to face.

Clay stares at me for a long moment, and then he starts to back out the door.  "They found him in Russia, okay?  Now leave me alone." 


	4. Old Photographs

Title: Superheroes and Friends

Chapter 4

*****

"Clayton, dear," my mother calls up the stairs.  "I can have someone bring those things down."

"That's all right, Mother," I yell.  "I think I can find it."

"All right, dear.  When you're done, I'll have the cook make us a nice lunch."

I smile.  My mother's version of fussing over me—asking someone else to cook for me or dig through the attic for my fishing gear.  But still, it gives me a warm feeling.  

I told Rabb I'd go fishing with him, and so he called yesterday.  Now I have to find my pole and tackle box in time to go to the lake with him Saturday.  I haven't been fishing since my dad was alive.  But I'm not going to tell Rabb that.

I nudge a box out of the way with my foot.  For all my mother's culture and sophistication, she has no semblance of a filing system.   

"Hmmm…" I mumble, leaning over to pick up of a box of pictures.

Sitting down on the floor with a thud, I start rifling through the old photos.  Pictures of my dad, my mom, and various other people.  Most of these were taken before I was born.  

I bite my bottom lip. A few weeks ago, my dad's remains were found in an unmarked grave in Russia.  He disappeared while I was in college.  I never knew what happened to him.

Rabb's been bugging me go gallivanting off to Russia to find out. But that information has probably been buried as long as my dad.

The only thing I've ever been able to find out about my dad's last days was from an old family friend, Tim Fawkes.  Tim told me that my dad wasn't on Agency business when he was killed.  In fact, back in the day, there were rumors that my dad had gone rogue.  Tim put a stop to those rumors pretty quick.

Still, he had to have been there for a reason.  He was killed during the heyday of the Cold War.  At that time, one didn't just run off to Russia to sightsee.  

Shaking my head, I return to the box of old photographs.  What I see almost makes me lose my breath.  

At first glance, it looks like a picture of my dad standing next to Harm.  But unless Rabb's added time travel to his repertoire of superpowers, I'm looking at my dad and Harmon Rabb, Sr.

I stare at the photograph, stunned.  They look pretty chummy.  Flipping the picture over, I narrow my eyes at the faded print.  It says, "Harry's bachelor party."  I raise my eyebrows.  I've known Rabb for almost a decade, and I don't know if we've ever had our picture taken together.

"Clayton, dear," my mother calls.  "Are you all right, honey?"

My breath hitches, and I swallow hard.  "Yes, Mother."

"Lunch is ready, dear."

Licking my lips, I stand up and shove the picture into my shirt pocket.  I don't know what this means, but now I think I may have to revise my personal history.  And my present.  If Rabb's dad knew my dad…I shake my head violently.  I'll have to handle this later.

"Coming, Mother."


End file.
